Fire and Scars
by DragonontheField
Summary: What happens when a man Yekaterina had every reason to fear begins to open old wounds? What happens when she falls in love with him?  Germany/Ukraine    WWII, Nazi!Germany.
1. Present: Chapter 1:  The Meeting

Yekaterina Braginskaya enjoyed World Meetings.

Sure, everyone fought most of the time, and nobody went near her because she was always with Ivan (She often wondered why everyone seemed so afraid of him,) and Natalya (Well, she could understand_ that_,) but it was definitely better than staying at home and doing nothing.

She wasn't antisocial, she was shy. She wasn't cold, she was fearful. So it was pleasing to be in the crowded meeting room, surrounded by people who considered her a friend and people who didn't consider her anything at all. Nobody talked to her, but it was nice to watch people talk and be somewhat included.

Even if it meant having Francis breathe down her neck, trying to look down her high-cut shirt without her noticing.

Even if it meant having to dodge odd lumpy objects (England's cooking, no less,) that Alfred had begun to use as projectiles in the past few Meetings.

Even if it meant having to be in the same room as…

"Everybody, _halt die schnauze_!"

The room immediately became quiet at the barked order.

"It's about time you stop fighting amongst yourselves and to try and create some ORDER!" A fist banged down on the table, hard enough to make it tremble for one brief second. All eyes went to the owner of the fist— and the voice—a tall man with icy blue eyes and blond hair, neatly slicked back. Yekaterina felt herself shudder.

"That's better," he said, his words harshly accented yet easy to understand, "Now, I would like you all to take the time to stop being idiots and try to solve your issues right here without all the noise and fighting!"

The only person who didn't seem solemn or terrified was her brother, the young woman noted, scanning the faces of the people in the room. Ivan just sat there, content as a cat in a sunbeam. It always amazed her how strong he was, but sometimes she wondered if this man could be just as strong.

"Ludwig!" a childish, whiny voice called out, intruding the speech, "_Fratello_ pinched me!"

"Italy! Shut up!" the German man ordered, making the boy wince. The two Italian brothers were next to him, the older looking scornfully at the younger, who was frowning pitifully. Continuing in a softer tone that was none-the-gentler, "Herr England and Herr America, why is it that every time you two are put in the same room you go at each other like dogs fighting over meat?"

"Don't compare me to a _dog,_ Kraut!" hissed Arthur Kirkland, momentarily unthreatened by the larger man.

At the same time, Alfred Jones, the American, laughed and replied, "He just _wants _me, is all! He's so jealous of—"

"Shut _up, _you insufferable brat!"

Yekaterina looked over at Ivan, who was watching the shouting match with the slightest smile. She then caught the eye of her sister, who rolled her eyes, showing her contempt over the entire thing. "Idiots," Natalya hissed, loud enough so only her siblings could hear. Only her sister seemed to, so she wrapped her arms around her brother's waist, whispering something to him. Yekaterina sighed and looked at the clock. Five minutes until the meeting ended. Sometimes she wished that they would try to solve the issue of the day early on so they could get things _accomplished_ during the rest of the time. What kinds of things, she didn't know, but it would be nice to find out for a change.

"Mr. Germany has very pretty eyes, Katyusha, don't you think so?" her brother suddenly remarked, quietly. Yekaterina couldn't help but feel a bit disturbed, but she, as usual, played along.

"Of course, брат," she whispered, and looked at the clock again. Four minutes left.

A paper airplane sailed across the room and hit the back of Alfred's head before swooping through the floor.

"That's _enough, _HerrIraq!" Ludwig shouted, his eyes flashing with anger.

"He is usually so quiet and reserved," Ivan said, "Today he is so furious. It makes me happy."

"It is good that you are happy, Ivan," she replied, distracted by the German man's face, so focused, so controlled— even in such anger…

A bell rang, the sound making everybody sigh. Everybody except for him.

"None of you have discipline! It's a wonder how you're all alive today!" he concluded standing upright and gathering his papers into a neat stack with a sweep of his arm. Within thirty seconds the room was clear of everyone except for Romano and Veneziano, the Italy brothers.

And, for once, Yekaterina and her siblings. Ivan stood and, Natalia at his heels, began to walk towards Ludwig, that faint, mocking smile on his lips. "Brother, what are you doing?" the Ukrainian woman asked, following him as well.

"Mr. Germany, you lost your temper today," Ivan remarked, his eyes full of malice that his older sister didn't interpret as anything but playfulness. She fought hard against the urge to step back as the German man's eyes, as blue as the January sky and just as cold, turned up to look at the Russian who stood before him. Then they darted to her, and her breath caught in her throat.

"I am tired of the useless arguing. I wish things could be simpler," he said, looking back to Ivan, "I do not usually get so angry. I apologize—" his gaze turned again to Yekaterina "—if I had offended anyone."

"I think you should yell more, _Herr_ Germany, it brings on so much nostalgia. Reminds me of the days when you wore that long black trench coat and that pretty red armband." His voice was mocking, and his smile had been replaced by a sneer.

"Brother," she whispered, tugging on his sleeve.

The German's eyes were cold and calculating. "I suppose it also reminds you of a time when you nearly killed your own sister for your own selfish benefit."

Yekaterina felt as if her heart had been stuck with a pin. Memories she had been so successful to hide slowly crept into her conscious. Tears slowly leaked into her eyes, tears that she couldn't let fall. Not in front of him.

"Brother, leave the foolish man, it is time to go," Natalya cooed, tangling her arm around Ivan's, a gesture which he ignored. Ludwig raised an eyebrow at this, and turned away, putting the stack of papers into a briefcase, closing it, and holding it at his side. He nodded harshly at the two, and then gazed at Yekaterina with a softened expression.

"I am sorry, Frau Ukraine."

He walked past them and out the door.


	2. Past: Chapter 2:  Weak

"Waiting, to cut out the dead wood

Waiting, to clean up the city

Waiting, to follow the worms

Waiting, to put on a black shirt

Waiting, to weed out the weaklings

Waiting, to smash in their windows and kick in their doors."

The young woman lay in a half-fetal position.

"He said you were weak."

She could hardly blink, much less reply to the statement. He didn't speak for a moment. She realized with slight amazement that she hadn't heard him kick in her door. All sounds were blurred. All sounds except for his voice.

"You _are _weak. Weakness must be dealt with." Fingers gently moved through her hair and then pulled, suddenly jerking her head up to face him. She let out a soft mewl of pain.

"I… you… you were supposed to help…" she mumbled, her words feeble, "You were supposed to help us…"

"You are not worthy of your own land. You are weak," he repeated, his words piercing her like bullets. Her vision blurred, but she could still see the color of his eyes, the downwards curve of his mouth.

"Wrong. You're wrong. You don't have to hurt so many people…" she spoke softly, through teeth clenched in pain and misery. Why didn't he just kill her now? What he had done to her had been worse than death. First Ivan gave up on her, and now this man was slowly taking her beloved land, her children. Tears stung her eyes and rolled down her face, making lines in the dust from so many attacks.

"Some things are necessary. We must cut out the dead wood in order for new, cleaner growth. We must weed out the weaklings to make room for the strong. You wouldn't understand. Your kind never would understand," he pulled her to her feet, causing her to cry out again in pain, "And this is why you have lost."

"Do _you_ understand it, Mr. Germany?"

He did not hear her.


	3. Present: Chapter 3: Every Reason

"To martyr yourself to caution  
>Is not going to help at all<br>Because there'll be no safety in numbers  
>When the right one walks out of the door"<p>

Yekaterina had begun to enjoy World Meetings less.

The previous night she had remembered the War; what Ivan had done to her. She remembered the fires that had scorched her fields, all caused by cowardice. All from the fear of _him_—the proud Deutschland, the _pure_, _strong_ new future-holder. All a lie. He had been different then. He had learned from his mistakes— she forced herself to believe this with all her heart.

Did he remember? Or had he tried to forget, as everyone else had? _Could _he remember?

She should have hated him. She should have always hated him. Yet, even though she didn't like to think about it she knew that she didn't, even when his words echoed in her mind:

"You are weak."

"_I am sorry, Frau Ukraine."_

"Weakness must be dealt with."

"_I wish things could be simpler."_

She groaned and put her head on the table. It wasn't fair. He still looked the same, he still sounded the same, but—

"Sestra, are you okay?" Ivan whispered, his voice harsh with concern.

"Da, Brother, I am fine," she muttered, not moving. She could feel tears stinging her eyes again.

"Sestra, look at me. Are you sick?"

"No, just tired." It was all she could manage without her voice trembling. She could feel his eyes on her for a moment or two, but then he gave up and left her alone with her thoughts. She hadn't slept well the night before. Nobody would be calling on her to say anything, anyway… she felt herself start to doze off before he was startled awake by her sister prodding her with a finger.

"Sestra," Natalya groaned, "That damned Nazi is looking at you."

She felt dizzy. "Wh-What? He's probably just looking at something else," she murmured.

Her voice turned quiet, dangerous. "I could get rid of him, Sestra. I could get rid of that German Nazi bastard after the meeting if—"

"That won't be necessary, Bela, it's okay," she replied in the same sleepy monotone. Natalya growled deep in her throat and turned away again. The urge to cry passed, and Yekaterina sat up straighter to try to focus on what was happening, but it was all the same as usual.

"—and all you do is sit there and stuff your face with that disgusting excuse for _food_!" Arthur was whining, pointing at Alfred, who in return chucked the milkshake he had been holding, covering the Englishman with the cold dessert. A very sticky fist-fight ensued.

"Stop it, you two!" a mortified French voice called out, "Zat is no way to show your love!"

She sighed, closing her eyes again for a moment. Had it always been like this? Ludwig had been right, it _was _a wonder they had all survived so long. She glanced over at him again, but he was no longer looking at her, he was glaring irritably at Veneziano, who appeared to be singing something in Italian.

"Why is it that Switzerland speaks German? Why not Swiss? I think there's something going on between the two—"

"My God, you're so _stupid_!"

"Shut up, the both of you! _Mon dieu_, everything you do is so harsh and unromantic!"

The bell rang, and everyone, once again, hurried out to get on with their separate lives. Yekaterina sighed with relief when her brother followed the crowd, Natalya close behind him. She was left behind to gather their notes—mostly little doodles of various nations dead or Ivan and Natalya together, wearing wedding clothes. She was so busy making sure to leave their section of the room neat that she didn't notice anyone standing behind her. Until that person spoke, of course.

"Frau Ukraine, I noticed that you were asleep today. Have you fallen ill?"

She turned, something about his voice causing her heart to feel like it had smashed into a brick wall. "M-Mr. Germany—"

"You look rather pale," he continued, looking down at her with which may have been concern or contempt. He raised him hand as if to touch her face. She flinched, her eyes widening. She instantly regretted it as he unhappily sighed and turned away. "Be sure to get some sleep tonight, Frau Ukraine. You won't want to miss tomorrow's argument." He smiled bitterly and headed out the door, but he didn't walk with the confidence he always had before.

She didn't move until she heard the door close.


	4. Past: Chapter 4: Scorched Hope

"With your nerves in tatters  
>As the cockleshell shatters<br>And the hammers batter  
>Down the door-<br>You'd better run!"

She stood in front of a window, admiring the sky. It was nearly sunset, and the daytime air had begun to cool. The sun was like a beacon of hope in the evening sky. Even in wartime, she has some hope for the future. She knew that evil couldn't win, that soon the Allied Powers would win. The sun began to fall, bathing Kiev in shades of pink and blue.

A sudden, impatient knock bludgeoned the silence. Yekaterina hurried over to the door, patting her long, braided hair to make sure she looked presentable. The door swung open soundlessly, revealing the familiar figure of her younger brother.

"Oh, Ivan, how nice! Here, come in, you must be melting in that coat—"

"Sestra. I would like to talk now. This… is important." For the first time she noticed how disheveled he looked—his hair was messy, his mouth was twitching, and his eyes were cold and devoid of emotion.

"Of course, Brother," she said, the cheerful smile replaced with an expression of concern. He followed her in and sat down at her kitchen table, gesturing for her to sit across from him. He looked grave.

"Yekaterina, as you know, the Germans have been invading any place that they can. Last month there was an invasion. My boss says that soon they will be moving on. To you."

His words fell like ice on her heart. "We… we can fight!"

"_Nyet. _Yekaterina, you will be crushed. We cannot let him take you. My boss… he has an idea." The last words were spoken with a strained reluctance, and one of Ivan's gloved hands balled up into a fist on the table. The other went to his pocket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. Yekaterina had never known her brother to be a smoker, so this worried her even more. He didn't speak for a moment.

"Brother?"

His face snapped up, mouth curved down in an almost savage expression. "They will come. And when they do, you must leave nothing for them to take. We cannot give the enemy _anything_. Do you understand?"

In truth, she did not. But she held her tongue and waited.

"You must leave nothing," he repeated, his eyes dark, "My boss says you must drive off cattle and livestock. Your villages are to be destroyed—" she gasped, tears filling her eyes—"and your fields are to be destroyed. All grains must be sent to authorities for safe-keeping. We must not leave anything for the enemy."

She felt sick; her thoughts were muddled. She had known how shaken Ivan's boss had been after the invasion in June, but she never thought he would force her to destroy herself like this.

"Little brother, _Vanya_, I can't do that!" she cried, her voice trembling, "Think of my people! What will happen to them!"

"Many will die— Sestra, control yourself! Some will live. And those will rebuild after this damned war." He took another drag from the cigarette, his violet eyes staring off at nothing. His face was ashen.

"I can't do this to my people," she said quietly, miserably.

"You love them too much. That is a mistake. Love is a weakness, don't you see? If you keep them thriving like this, you're allowing the Germans to thrive as well! I don't want you to be responsible if we lose the war," he concluded, his voice monotonous, "You have no say in the matter. Tomorrow the destruction begins." He stood.

"Ivan…"

"_Do svidaniya_, Yekaterina." He walked to the door, the cigarette dropping a snowflake of ash onto the hardwood floor. He opened the door and stepped out, closing it gently behind him. The Ukrainian woman felt a sob rise to her throat, and she slumped down in her chair, burying her face in her hands.


	5. Present: Chapter 5: Hope to See You

"How I wish, how I wish you were here.

We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl,

Year after year.

Running over the same old ground—

What have we found?

The same old fears.

Wish you were here."

Yekaterina didn't go to Friday's World Meeting.

Ivan had called her from the conference room, asking if she was sick. It had been so easy to lie to him. She lay in her bed now, sheets twisted around her from struggling in her few hours of sleep, eyes puffy and sore from tears she did not remember crying. The sunlight tore through the window and blinded her for a second as she opened her eyes.

"I can't go on like this," she whispered to no one in particular, her voice raspy and weak. She sat up, and after a short dizzy spell, stood, running her fingers through her short hair. She remembered when she had cut it. It was a time when beauty officially stopped mattering and survival became the most important part of her life. _I'm fine now, though, _she thought, _so why haven't I grown it back out? _

Half-heartedlyhumming a folk song she had forgotten the words to in an attempt to soothe herself, she made up her bed and straightened up the bright, colorful room. The familiar movements of cleaning helped calm her down, and soon she was smiling without realizing it. She felt guilty for not going to the Meeting, but she knew if she had she would have been a mess throughout it—especially if _he _tried to talk to her again. The smile melted away along with her cheerfulness. She tried to shrug thoughts of Ludwig off, but they were like a note stapled to her mind. Even Ivan's cruelty in the past didn't bother her—he did what he had to do. It wasn't his choice to hurt her like he did, and in reality it wasn't even his doing.

But Ludwig had only been acting on orders just as well. So why did it bother her so much?

_Because he enjoyed it._

The thought made her throat feel swollen, as if she was going to cry. She didn't.

_He loved the power. He loved being able to make people finally listen to him after all the years of solitude and weakness._

"_Weakness must be dealt with."_

She shook her head hard in an attempt to clear her thoughts, but of course the attempt was pointless. Remembering his face made her heart hurt. Stopping in front of her mirror, she brushed out her hair, adding a few pins to keep her bangs from getting in her eyes. Then she inspected her face. She was a little pale, but she looked healthier than earlier. She didn't notice how sad her eyes looked or the bitterness of her smile. She almost didn't hear the three quick raps to her door. When she did, she pondered over whether or not to answer it. She had a frightening feeling of who it might be. After a moment, she made her way down the hall to the front door, checking the clock on the way.

Hours had passed—how long had she slept since the phone conversation with Ivan? Peeking through the blinds that covered the window on her door, her eyes instantly met with a pair of sapphire blue ones. She uttered a sound of shock, but then she realized it was not Ludwig she was looking at.

"M-Mr. America…?" she said, opening the door.

"N-No," the man said quietly, as if he was sorry to correct her, "Canada."

"O-Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Don't worry about it, eh? Ah, Germany sent me to give you some notes you missed, since you were sick today…" He handed her a single sheet of paper, not even half-filled with words. Seeing her expression, he added, "I know it's not much, b-but Germany told me to bring it over."

"Oh, _duzhe diakuiu,_" she murmured, forgetting to speak English for a second.

"H-Hm?"

She shook her head, "Sorry, sorry. I meant, uh, thank you."

He nodded, adjusting his glasses. "A-Anytime, Miss Ukraine. I-I'll, uh, see you later."

"Okay, have a nice day, M-Mr..."

"Canada." His voice had a bitter edge to it. She just nodded and closed the door as he began to walk away. She studied the words on the page for a moment. They were written in clear, neat handwriting.

_As usual, nobody got anything accomplished and nobody who realized this had the guts to do anything about it. However, with some persuasion—_the word 'persuasion' had been erased and rewritten several times—_I managed to get America to talk about his debt issue. For about five minutes. Besides that, the entire meeting was a waste. Regardless, I hope to see you at the next meeting, for the very small possibility that something __does__ happen. _The last bit of this sentence had also been erased and rewritten several times. The last bit was obviously not written by Ludwig, for the handwriting went from solemn and neat to a large cursive. _Ciao, Ukraine! It's Veneziano! Hope you feel better soon~! _

She giggled softly despite the pressure she felt on her heart. She could almost picture the German's face as he was writing, his brow furrowed in frustration, eyes occasionally darting up from the paper to whoever was fighting today…

She blushed as the squeezing feeling became a tingling restlessness. She took a deep breath and put the paper face down on a table before leaving her house to take a walk. She hoped it would clear her mind of the mixed up, confusing thoughts she was having. A cool breeze stirred her white-blond hair and caused her to shiver. Long grass whipped her bare ankles, and chickens squawked and darted away from her in confused zig-zags.

_There is farmland like this in Germany, _she remembered, and shivered again, that odd sensation running through her body again. She sighed and closed her eyes against the breeze.


	6. Past: Chapter 6: Mine

"Did you see the frightened ones?  
>Did you hear the falling bombs?<br>The flames are all gone, but the pain lingers on.  
>Goodbye, blue sky."<p>

Chaos surrounded the poor woman. Up on the hill, above the village, the houses going up in flames seemed only slightly larger than campfires in the distance. The orange flares of light gleamed in her captor's eyes. He had brought her here to show her, so it seemed, how helpless she was now. Tears, cold from the wind, rolled down her face and landed in her lap, staining her dress. Not that it mattered, anyway—it was already covered in dust and blood from struggling. She was aware of his eyes on her but she refused to return the gaze—she was worried that he would feign sympathy and try to soften her hate. And then he spoke.

"We will rebuild. We will make you stronger than you were before, don't you see that?"

"Don't talk to me," she said, trying to put as much venom as she could into her voice. It came out sounding like she was pleading. To her horror, his fingers touched her hair, moving her bangs away from her face. "Please. You've done enough."

He chuckled humorlessly. "Your brother thought he could save you by starving you, eh? Well, look at your _scorched earth _plan. I think my men have handled it better than that coward Russia."

"Stop talking about Brother like that."

"To think that after all he put you through, you still forgive him—"

"That doesn't mean I'll forgive _you," _she hissed, turning to him fast enough for him to accidently tear out some of her hair. Unfazed, he shook his hand, allowing the few blond strands to fall to the grass. He felt his heart drop a little.

"That's okay," he murmured, "I don't need your forgiveness." His blue eyes met her sea-green ones, wide with rage and misery. His were cold, calculating. "I'm sure poor Ivan is beside himself for losing his sweet, pretty sister to me. However, you know, I think he knew that this would happen."

Yekaterina turned her head down, not wanting him to see her cry again. His hand darted out and went under her chin, forcing her face up.

"It would be a shame if you chose to fight, Fraulein. You might be dead by now."

"Stop touching me." He smiled even as his eyes seemed to radiate madness and fury, grabbing her wrist and pulling her hard against him. She raised her other hand in a fist to hit him, but he grabbed that one too, moving his face closer to her so he could whisper down her neck.

"I can do whatever I want to you now. You're _mine._"

"No," she mumbled, before she closed her eyes and the world disappeared, along with Ludwig's voice.


	7. Present: Chapter 7: Friends

You know that I care what happens to you,  
>and I know that you care for me too,<br>so I don't feel alone,  
>or the weight of the stone.<p>

Ivan greeted her with a loving warmth in his voice and smile that he seemed to save only for her. "Ah, _Katyusha_, I was worried you would not be showing up again today."

"I feel better now," she replied vaguely, trying to return the smile as genuinely as she could.

"You look well," Natalya commented without looking at her. She was busy glaring threateningly at someone else across the room.

The Ukrainian woman glanced around at her fellow nations, eventually finding Ludwig. He was scolding Feliciano. She quickly looked away. She had told herself she might talk to him today, but she now realized with a sinking feeling that that wasn't going to happen. The meeting went by as usual, but Yekaterina hardly heard any words from the grumbles and shouts of the arguments that went on. Soon it was over— with nothing resolved, of course. She stayed behind again in the almost-deserted room, even though there wasn't much to pick up. Her pulse quickened when she heard his voice again.

"You really should be careful! You _know _how protective Herr Switzerland is of his sister!"

"But, Germany, Lili is—"

"That's enough! I'm tired of hearing from you for one day! Mein Gott, you make me want to pull out my hair sometimes." Ukraine's lips tried to pull up in a grin, but she managed to keep a straight face, with some effort.

The Italian man suddenly sounded cheerful. "Hey, Germany, it's— ah!" When Yekaterina looked up, the German's hand was clenched into a fist, in it a good thirty percent of the other man's auburn hair. The little curl that she had often wondered about poked through his fingers.

"Italy, go home." Ludwig's face was red with either embarrassment or rage. _Probably both, _she thought.

"Y-Yes sir," the other mumbled before the hand released him and he scampered away. Yekaterina, trying to seem casual, carefully looked back down at the book her sister had left behind—_Marriage, Property, And Law In Late Imperial Russia_. She could feel his attention shift to her, and she instantly asked herself why she had to stay behind for so long.

He cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, sorry about that."

She glanced up, her gaze instantly meeting his. She felt an odd terror. "H-Hm?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "He's like a dog sometimes,_ ja_? And these meetings seem to get to me in the worst ways."

She tried to look friendly, managing a very weak smile. "I know what you mean."

After a pause, he began again, "You don't look like you've been sleeping well, again." He took a step closer.

"D-Do I?" she managed, painfully aware that she was blushing.

"_Ja_. Why is that, Frau Ukraine?"

"It's nothing, just a lot of work in the fields—"

"It is not the planting season _or _the harvesting season, Frau Ukraine." He frowned slightly.

She just stared at him, having been caught in a lie and not having anything to say. This didn't seem to bother him—he had seen a lot of wide-eyed fear in his life—and he stared back, waiting for her to make a second excuse.

"Frau Ukraine?"

"_T-Ta_?"

"You look frightened." He took another step. This time she didn't respond. She could have turned to run, but the sadness she saw in his face kept that urge at bay in the back of her mind. When Ivan had been a child, he would often run to her crying when he was sad, but this seemed less like sadness and more like...

_Deprivation, _she concluded, before becoming confused at the very thought.

"Mr. Germany, you don't look well, either," she returned, bravely (at least for her) returning his concerned gaze.

"I know. And I know why." A third step—now they were less than an arm's length away from each other. When she didn't speak, he went on: "Frau Ukraine, the war is over." He suddenly seemed hesitant, unsure of what to say next. He paused, taking a deep breath. "Our… our people have made peace."

"Y-Yes, you are right," she replied softly, wanting him to continue.

"They have made peace," he repeated, pausing again for a few seconds. "Why haven't _we_?"

"H-Haven't we?—"

"_Nein_. This past week, it's been 'How afraid will Ukraine be of me, today?'. I can't stand it anymore." His face was red now, and he was avoiding her eyes. _That's usually me, _she noticed. "It's my fault, I know. I realize what I did. I know how vile my intentions were in the past—"

"Mr. Germany…" He stopped, looking now at her face. When Ivan had come to her crying, as a child, the first thing she would do was envelope him in a hug. So, now, it only came as instinct to her as she took the last step forward and wrapped her arms around Ludwig's torso. That tingling, electric feeling from before came again, only it seemed like this time it was increased by one thousand. He made a startled noise and seemed to freeze for a second, but soon she felt his hands on her back, awkwardly pulling her closer to him. He could feel her heart beating faster than it should be and he realized that his was as well. It was nice, though, so very nice… He sighed with contentment, putting his face against the crook of her neck. He could smell the faintest hint of perfume and fresh country air—

"Sestra! Come!" Natalya's voice was like a bullet piercing through the closed door. Yekaterina heard Ludwig groan, and pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry," she said, stepping away.

"Wait, Frau Ukraine." he said, moving closer again and touching her shoulder, "A-Are we… _friends, _now?"

She smiled, curing the look of anxiety in his expression, "Unless you don't want to be, Mr. Germany, _ta_."

He nodded and, red faced, opened his mouth to speak again. Natalya's voice, now furious with impatience and worry, called again.

"_Katyusha_! Get out of the meeting room! We're having tea at your house today, remember!"

Yekaterina sighed. "_Bud zdorov_, Mr. Germany," she said softly, making her way towards the door.

"_Auf Wiedersehen_," he replied, watching her go, wonder touching his voice. _How could two people raised by this woman turn out like Russia and Belarus had?_ He shrugged off the thought and quickly gathered his things, smiling as he did so. He was so happy… _Happy. _When was the last time he had felt so good? He didn't try to remember. Ludwig walked out the door as quickly as he could, hoping to see her one more time before going home.


	8. Past: Chapter 8: No More

"Thought I ought to bare my naked feelings,  
>Thought I ought to tear the curtain down.<br>I held the blade in trembling hands  
>Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang<br>I never had the nerve to make the final cut."

The war was over.

Germany had been cornered by the Allies. It was all over. Yekaterina had learned this, cleaning his study as he sat at his desk, tense and focused on the radio in front of him. She had seen him when the realization finally struck him that he would lose, a thought that she suspected he had known the whole time. His eyes had gone blank, his expression numb. He turned to her, and just stared, wide eyed. The radio went on, telling the details of the Allies' victory.

"Katya. Leave the room and close the door," he had told her, reaching for the telephone. He picked up the handset with trembling fingers. When he did not hear her walk out, he turned. His expression was one of defeat. When he spoke, his voice matched his face.

"I told you to leave."

She had obeyed, but she knew that she would not have to, ever again. She wouldn't have to be his servant anymore. She was free. The game was over; no more of her people would have to be killed by the Nazis. Ukraine was still in ruins— _that_ she couldn't ignore. So many had died and she was very weak. But now she had a chance to become strong again! Yekaterina wept with joy and relief when she was out of the room, drawing the attention of Veneziano, who had been sleeping on a couch in the living room. From the beginning, _he _had treated her with naïve kindness, so she wasn't worried about being near him.

"What's wrong, _bella ragazza_?" he had asked, using one of the pet names he occasionally called her, "Did Germany flip out again?" He rolled off the couch and stood in front of her, trying to see her face.

"The Allies won!" she announced, smiling defiantly. He frowned at this, putting his hands on her shoulders and shaking her a little.

"But… but Katya! That's a bad thing! Why are you happy?"

"No, Mr. Italy, don't you understand? It's over!" she had replied, unable to stop herself from laughing happily.

"How could Germany lose? _Germany!_" he called, letting her go and racing to his Ally's study. Her mind buzzed with excitement. She would be able to see Ivan again!

She hadn't really been treated _badly _here—Veneziano was always sweet to her and in the few times when she had seen the Japanese ally, Kiku, he had treated her with respect. Ludwig himself rarely laid a hand on her, the occasional moments when he did being only when he was very drunk or very angry. She had even grown to be slightly attached to him, something she hated. Towards the end of the war, he even apologized for his cruelty, however vaguely—

"I don't want to have to hurt anyone," he had whispered to her one evening, an empty mug of beer sitting in front of him, "I know I hurt you. It will be all for the better, though, you'll see."

She hadn't replied, knowing that anything she tried to say would be choked with tears. She had just picked up the empty mug and walked out of the room to fill it for him.

Now her heartbeat punctuated her thoughts. _Should I leave now? Should I run? _She knew that she should wait for one of the Allied Nations to rescue her, but it was an idea worth considering.

No more of those unsettling, hungry looks he would give her when she walked past him. No more potatoes. No more—

"Braginskaya!" he barked in his overbearing, brassy voice. He must have walked into the room while her thoughts were elsewhere, and she turned, startled. His eyes showed only a shadow of his usual self-confidence.

"Y-Yes, Herr Germany?" she replied, unsure of what to do. He walked towards her and grabbed her wrist, pulling her close to him. She cried out. _What if he kills me right here? _The thought was terrifying and only reminded her of how terribly weak she was, regardless of her freedom. She gazed up at him, wide eyed with fear. His grip on her arm, as strong as it was, wasn't enough to hurt. The blue eyes that had in turns made her heart flutter and sink radiated defeat. He looked much older than he was at that moment.

He had seen her cry many times. She often cried because she missed her family and her freedom. Right now, she thought that it would be his turn to cry as he stared down at her. She was wrong.

"I…" Ludwig closed his eyes and sighed, releasing her and rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache. He pinched the bridge of his nose and furrowed his eyebrows together.

"Herr Germany," she began quietly, unsurely, "You made a mistake in starting all this. Your boss was so wrong, and what he made you do, what you _did_, was evil." His hand moved, but instead of looking angry, he just waited for her to continue. "But now," she said, reaching up to gently hold his face in her hands, "you can try to make things right again."

He put his hands over hers, covering them. "Do you… forgive me?"

"_Nein_," she replied, "and I don't know if I ever will." He looked wounded but she did not change her statement. "I might if you fix things first. Never make this mistake again. Never let people like your boss control your mind again."

An impatient knock came at the door. "Alright, dude! You're done!" said an American voice, loud enough to not be muffled by the wall that separated indoors from out. Ludwig sighed and stepped back, leaving her. She got dizzy and lost her balance for a second before taking a deep breath to regain her composure. Veneziano ran past her, a white flag streaming out behind him, chattering in Italian. She followed.

Once she reached the door, she saw Ludwig, his hands raised in surrender. Alfred Jones grinned.

"'Sup, Ukraine?" he said, noticing her behind his enemy.

"Guten tag_, _Herr America."

He laughed. "No more of that! Now you can speak your own language, babe. German doesn't sound right from you."

She nodded, feeling her face flush.

"C'mon, let's go," the American said to the three, waving his arm to lead them outside, "We've got stuff to do."


	9. Present: Chapter 9: I Remember

"If you should go skating  
>On the thin ice of modern life<br>Dragging behind you the silent reproach  
>Of a million tear-stained eyes…" <p>

The next week was uneventful. Ludwig wanted to see Yekaterina very badly, but he couldn't think of any believable excuse to do so. There were no World Meetings planned for the next two weeks, so the German man found himself being followed by his Italian ally, Veneziano.

Everywhere.

It wasn't unbearable; he even somewhat enjoyed having a friend with him. But pasta and pretty girls wasn't exactly the subjects he was eager to discuss—unless it was about one _particular _pretty girl.

"—I mean, Brother France always told me that if you touch girls there, they fall in love with you, but I just got slapped. Do you know anything about girls, Germany? Brother France does. He knows _all _about them."

"Well, I—"

"And he knows a lot about food, too. Romano doesn't like French food, but that's because of Spain."

"_Ja_, well—"

The little Italian chattered on as if he hadn't begun to speak. "Why wouldn't you let me say _ciao _to Russia's sister yesterday, Germany? Remember when she lived with us? It was like when Hungary lived with me and Austria. Russia's sister is really nice. We used to play football together when you were out."

"Italy, Frau Ukraine and I are now on speaking terms again."

"What's that supposed to mean, you weren't before?"

_Oh mein Gott! He's so infuriating sometimes! _Ludwig thought, clenching his teeth.

"When she was living with me, Italy," he said after a moment, his tone reasonably calm, "Why do you think she never left?"

Veneziano nodded as if he was answering a simple math problem, his auburn hair bouncing as he did so, "Because you two were a couple, right?"

"We were a what—"

"Like, in love. Married."

Ludwig froze, feeling himself blush.

"I'm right— right, Germany? Right?"

"Italy, you _dummkopf_! Do you remember what was going_ on _while Frau Ukraine stayed with us?"

"Hm… oh yeah! You got beat up by America and Russia and Chi— ow!" Veneziano glared up at him, lips pouted as he rubbed the back of his head where Ludwig had cuffed him.

"Sometimes I wonder why I even talk to you! Think, Italy, don't you remember World War two?"

"Hmmph!" the other replied, tossing his head and beginning to walk again.

"Oh, come _on, _Italy!" he called, jogging to keep up with the younger man. When his ally didn't stop, he rolled his eyes and reached out towards his head, taking the curl that stood up from the rest of his hair in between his thumb and forefinger and tugging it.

He abruptly stopped. "A-Ah, _Ludwig_!" he cried, shuddering, before covering his mouth and turning red. Ludwig raised an eyebrow—he would never really understand why the act always made him shut up and forget about being angry, but he didn't really care enough to find out.

"Italy, I never courted Frau Ukraine."

He took a breath, recovering. "Oh. Then why was she always—"

"The same reason why you were with Fraulein Hungary and Herr Austria!"

Something overshadowed the Italian's face. "Oh. Oh yeah. I forgot."

Ludwig instantly felt sorry. Veneziano seemed so carefree and naïve at times, but if one tried to go too far into his mind, he could be very complex indeed.

"So… you made her clean and stuff."

"Well, _ja, _if you put it that way—"

"I didn't like it when Mr. Austria made me clean and stuff. Ukraine didn't either, she cried a lot. I remember that now."

"Italy—"

"Mr. Austria used to step on me and stuff when I didn't do what he said when I was little. You didn't step on Ukraine, did you?"

"Of course not!" His face felt hot and his heart felt like it was squirming in his chest. Veneziano narrowed his eyes, looking eerily serious, more like his older brother. _If Romano was any cleverer._

"You made her speak German. She didn't like that. I remember when we lost the war, too, Germany. Why do I forget things so fast?"

"That's how a nation's mind works, Italy."

"Oh. I don't think that's good. Because what if our people forget? Then we'd be in the same war over and over and it wouldn't be fun and nobody would make new friends. I remember when we lost the war," he repeated, "Katya was really happy. You weren't though; you just kept frowning and not talking."

"Italy, that's enough." His heart was aching— he didn't like the sudden change in his friend's attitude at all.

"You kissed her once, that's why I thought—"

"No I did not!" Ludwig hissed, walking more quickly.

"Yes you did," the other sang, "You were really sad and you kept drinking and then—"

"Italy, that's _enough_!" A few heads turned at the outburst, causing the German man to blush up to the roots of his slicked back blond hair. Veneziano giggled, his walk turning into a skip as his attitude reverted back to as it was before the mention of the war. Ludwig sighed, his heartbeat faster than usual. _Had _he kissed her? He had a few blurry memories, but…

The Italian broke out into a few words of a song, causing even more heads to turn. A group of girls giggled and Veneziano waved at them.

"Ciao, ladies!" he called, smiling flirtatiously.

"I'm going home," Ludwig murmured darkly before ducking into a crowd, and walking in the direction of his house. His thoughts of the Ukrainian woman followed him closely, pulling on his heart and promising to never leave him alone.


	10. Past: Chapter 10: The Beer

"Remember when you were young?  
>You shone like the sun.<br>Shine on you crazy diamond.  
>Now there's a look in your eyes,<br>Like black holes in the sky. "

Veneziano greeted her happily from the kitchen, turning away from the huge, steaming pot on the stove to smile at her. "Ciao, _bella ragazza_!"

"Hello, Mr. Italy," she replied, returning the smile with only half the cheerfulness, placing the empty beer mug on the table for the time being. She would much rather be in the same room as the sweet, bright-eyed Italian than Ludwig, who had been in a particularly dark mood that evening.

"How's Germany? He wasn't happy today, so I decided to make some pasta. Pasta always cheers _me _up," Veneziano told her, turning back to the stove. Three large empty packages of spaghetti lay on the counter—he must have filled the entire pot with enough pasta to feed fourteen people. Sighing, she picked up the empty boxes and put them in the trash bin, scanning the kitchen for any other messes. There were none yet, so she reluctantly picked up the mug again and went to fill it for Ludwig. As she stood with her back to him, Veneziano walked up to her and pulled her bangs away from her eyes.

"Mr. Italy?"

"Why'd you cut your hair, Ukraine? I liked it when you first came here."

She turned to him, the mug full of amber beer. "I'm sorry, Mr. Italy, but I think it's better short."

"Why?"

"W-Well, it would be easier to work like this," she lied. In truth, she had been trying to make herself look as unattractive as possible around Ludwig; the less he looked at her, the safer she felt. The Italian frowned, his eyes analyzing her own.

"Okay, well tell Germany I'm here and I say 'hi'!" he said, his mood lightening again.

"I will," she promised, feeling more and more anxious with each step towards Ludwig's study. He must have been drunk by now—she had made this trip more than enough times that evening to know that. The door creaked slightly as she opened it, revealing the large, neat room that always gave her an aura of power and danger, in which Ludwig waited. He sat on the sofa, very focused on a paper that lay on the small coffee table in front of him. She couldn't read it—it was entirely in German, which she had only learned to speak, and the very basics of at that. He didn't seem to notice her at all until the mug was placed on the table, making a small thump that Yekaterina hadn't meant to make. His eyes first went to the beer, and then up to her. His gaze made her uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Herr Germany," she said quietly, eager to leave the room. As she turned to go, he spoke.

"Stay here." His voice was very calm and clear for being drunk, she noticed. Sometimes, especially after a war, she would visit Ivan and he would be pathetically intoxicated. His words were always slurred, and he was often violent—never to her, though. It was amazing how different this man was from anyone she had known before.

She nodded without speaking and waited.

"Come here, Katya," he said after a few seconds, standing and making a beckoning gesture. Despite feeling weighed down by dread, she obeyed him, her hands clutched together in front of her. She refused to look him in the eyes, staring instead at the Knight's Cross at his throat. Her eyes then wandered to the armband he wore, the swastika in a circle of white standing out as a symbol of hate and power, the background as red as the blood of so many people murdered. Anger pierced her heart as well as fear, along with an odd tingling feeling she couldn't place.

"Herr Italy wanted me to tell you he's making dinner," she said softly, finally managing to glance up at his face. His expression was unreadable. He continued staring at her, his icy blue eyes narrowed.

She would have fallen backwards when he suddenly stepped forwards if he hadn't caught her, one arm around her waist and the other on her back, his hand on the back of her neck. She struggled a little, but gave up as she realized that she had only succeeded in giving him a reason to pull her body impossibly close to his own, touching his lips to her ear.

"Don't leave," he demanded in a whisper, as if she could have it she wanted to. Every place where he was touching her felt terrifyingly electric, and she couldn't stop herself from letting out a whimper.

_He's touching me with the same hands that murdered millions of innocent people,_ she thought, her mind panicking. Her eyes closed, and for a moment she thought she was going to faint. She didn't, though, even if unconsciousness might have been more bearable than this mad rush of emotions.

He moved his head away so he could look at her face. He had that same hungry expression she had seen occasionally when they were both in the house alone.

"H-Herr Germany—" she began, only to be cut off.

"Be quiet," he murmured, before leaning forward. She knew what he was doing, how could she not? But yet, she didn't try to stop him when he caught her mouth with his own in a surprisingly gentle kiss. His hand left the back of her neck and went to her face, pushing her bangs away like Veneziano had done only five minutes before. Then it returned, the pads of his gloved fingers grazing the side of her neck and making her shudder. His mouth tasted like beer.

"Hey Germany! I was making the sauce for the pasta and I couldn't find the tomatoes and—" a cheerful voice called from the hallway, getting closer until it stopped altogether. Veneziano gasped a little, his figure freezing in the doorway. Ludwig pulled away from Yekaterina, breathing hard, his face reddening.

"And I was wondering where you kept your tomatoes," the little Italian finished, as if he hadn't noticed the kiss at all. Ludwig stared at the man incredulously. Yekaterina felt so wonderfully relieved that Veneziano had such good timing.

"Katya, help Italy," he muttered, dodging his ally as he left the room, "I'm going to go to bed."

"But you'll miss—" The rest of Veneziano's sentence was muffled as Yekaterina ran forward and covered his mouth with a shaking hand. The Italian's golden-brown eyes darted down to her, questioning.

"_Shh_."

When she heard a door close, she let him go.

"What's wrong, Ukraine?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but she found herself unable. _He kissed me. _ The thought seemed to freeze and burn her at the same time. Confused tears pricked at her eyes as she stared at Veneziano, who stared back with childish concern.

"I'm sorry I interrupted you guys, but the door was open so—"

"I'll help you in the kitchen now, Mr. Italy," she whispered, walking past him just as tears began to fall.


	11. Present: Chapter 11: Another Meeting

"Button your lip. Don't let the shield slip.  
>Take a fresh grip on your bullet proof mask.<br>And if they try to break down your disguise with their questions  
>You can hide, hide, hide,<br>Behind paranoid eyes."

"Sestra, were you talking to that German bastard again?" Natalya's question was as savage as her expression as she stood before her older sister, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently against the carpeted floor of the meeting room.

"Hm?" Yekaterina replied, feigning absent-mindedness in order to have time to think about her answer. She really had no reason to lie—the war was over. She was free to talk to whomever she wanted. On the other hand, Natalya seemed to genuinely despise Ludwig. Having Yekaterina develop the smallest relationship with him after what he had done to her in the past might be enough for her to actually hurt him.

"You know damned well what I mean. The day we came to your house after the meeting. You stayed behind, and he left the meeting room just as you did. Now answer me: Were you talking to him?"

"Well, y-yes," the other replied, nervously adjusting the collar of her blouse.

"You shouldn't. Big Brother and I know it, and I think you do too. He's dangerous, that fascist Nazi kraut bastard—"

"He's not like that anymore! He's changed so much after Hitler; I wish you would see that!" Yekaterina interrupted, her sister's words stabbing her heart. She just needed her to understand…

"Ha! He betrayed Brother, all but raped you, and killed _my _people as well! Don't you remember, Sestra? For someone as wise as you, your childish naivety surprises me," the younger growled, her threatening expression and grimace clashing with her prettiness. Yekaterina couldn't think of a reply, and she frowned, staring back at her sibling.

"That was a long time ago," she finally managed, knowing in her heart that she had lost, "He's different now."

Natalya glared at her for a moment, something finally connecting behind her eyes. Her face lit up, but not with happiness—with shock.

"You talk of him as if you had a… a _crush _on him."

"I—I don't—"

Her sister's eyes only widened, and now she looked at her sibling as if she was the most absurd person on Earth.

"Katyusha, you would never fall for… for _that, _would you? No, of course you would, that's _just _like you, isn't it? Forgive and forget, is _that _what you believe? Let them stab you in the back and then send them flowers, is _that _your idea? Oh, _nyet,_ Sestra. I'm not letting that happen."

The other woman just stared, her own eyes wide with disbelief. How could her sister think like this? It wasn't fair…

"I'm sure Brother would agree. And if _I'm _not getting through to that pretty little head of yours, maybe _he _will. I _know_ he will."

"'Sup, my cute little Slavic ladies? You're here early today; what, did you get the wrong sche—"

Something whizzed by Alfred—whom had just entered the room with a McDonald's bag clutched in one hand— and lodged into the wall about two inches from his skull. Luckily, he had dodged it—Natalya had obviously meant the pencil she had thrown to implant itself into the American's brain.

Alfred glanced at the pencil and back at the two. Unfazed at the obvious death threat, he grinned at the younger sister. "Nice shot, Belarus; but I don't think England's gonna like having stuff in the wall, and all. You look pretty, by the way. Did you cut your hair—"

"Shut up and go eat your disgusting processed meat, America, or I promise you next time I _won't _miss," Natalya hissed, pointing to the far side of the room. Alfred raised an eyebrow, amused at the girl's anger, and winked at Yekaterina before walking away.

"I will talk to you later, Katyusha," Natalya whispered, standing up, "I'm going to look for Brother."

The other woman simply nodded. After her sister was out of the room, Alfred stood back up and approached her, leaning across the table to look her in the eyes.

"Is your sister single?" he asked, his face eager and hopeful. Yekaterina sighed, and began to answer.

"Well, she—"

"America! I would like to speak with you," another male voice boomed, one that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Sure, Germany, my man," Alfred replied, turning and heading over to Ludwig, who stood in front of the doorway, looking displeased. He didn't seem to notice her sitting there, and the two conversed for a minute, too quietly to be heard.

"'Kay man, sure thing!" she heard Alfred say cheerfully, walking away from the German man, who still looked irritated. Then he saw her, their eyes meeting. His mouth twitched up into a nervous smile, and he raised his hand in a half-wave. She returned the smile, her heart leaping. Then it was gone as Natalya returned, Ivan in tow.

"Move," she growled, pushing Ludwig to the side and heading towards Yekaterina. His blue eyes lit up with anger at the rudeness, and their eyes met again as she frowned apologetically at him. He looked at her for a moment with a blank expression before walking over to his section of the room.

"What is wrong, Bela?" Ivan asked Natalya, tilting his head to the side in confusion. Yekaterina sighed, relieved that her sister hadn't told him anything yet.

"Nothing, dear brother, just another _mishap _with the Nazi bastard again," she replied, her eyes darting to the eldest of the three accusingly.

"What?"

"It looks like the meeting is starting, Ivan, maybe we should pay attention," Yekaterina reminded him, leaning to the side and moving some of the white-blond hair away from his face. He looked at her for a moment, a question in his eyes. Then, Alfred began to speak, addressing the entire room.

"Well, dudes, I guess we should get started. So, like, about the riots that England's been having problems with, I think that we should—"

"What happens in _my _country is none of your business, America! We're here for what's happening _amongst _each other, not our individual problems!"

"Yeah, like your ideas are better than mine."

"Apparently not, since it was _my _idea to start you off as a country!"

"Shut up!" Ludwig shouted, making their heads turn, faces suddenly solemn.

"Why do you not just let them fight, Mr. Germany?" Ivan cut in, a blank, cruel smile masking his usual childish contentedness.

"Fighting isn't going to help anything right now!" the other shot back.

"I think it might help if England and America just fought to the death," the Russian continued, his eyes alight with the joy of his idea, "Then we would either be down one obnoxious fool or one whiny self-assured idiot. It is a good idea, _da_?"

"Russia, you are not helping!" Ludwig said, though he seemed to for a second consider the idea.

"Suit yourself, Mr. Germany, but you make a bad choice. If it were my decision, everyone would become one with Russia. The world would be a happy place of communism and sunflowers."

"Oh, great, _this_ again," Roderich Edelstein, the Austrian representative, grumbled, "Nobody is ever going to become one with you, Russia, why don't you just give up?"

Ivan smiled threateningly, his eyes bright with fury as he stared at the black-haired man. The tense atmosphere was broken by Francis, who laughed. "Well, Mr. Russia, I'd 'become one' with you, if I didn't think you'd be into _le _S _et _M."

"I wouldn't think twice about tearing your throat out with my bare hands, France," he replied, almost conversationally. Ludwig sighed and sat back down, covering his face with his hand. It was useless to try and talk sense into these people. Yekaterina felt a wave of sympathy for him, and wished she could reassure him without anyone noticing.

When her attention left him, he peeked over his hand at her. He found himself fascinated by just watching her teal eyes move around the room, taking everything in with a somehow subconsciously cheerful aura about her.

_She has so much hope for everyone, _he thought, _I wonder how she does it._

Then she glanced over towards him, and he averted his eyes, feeling a blush creep up to his face.


	12. Present: Chapter 12: Poppies

"Me, and you.  
>God only knows it's not what we would choose to do. "<p>

Not much changed between them in the next couple of weeks. Neither tried to engage in conversation past a shy hello, and there were always stolen glances at every World Meeting. Ludwig (usually without realizing it,) went out of his way to get closer to her whenever he could. It became increasingly difficult, of course, when her siblings got wind of his intentions, regardless of how he tried to hide them.

"Hello, Mr. Germany. So, you and my sister have been becoming close friends, _da_?" Ivan had asked him before a meeting had begun one day. His voice was friendly, but Ludwig knew enough to suspect hidden suspicion and annoyance below the mask. One look into his violet eyes confirmed this.

"I wouldn't call it a closeness, Herr Russia," he had said, his pointer finger tapping the surface of the table, his slight anxiety masquerading as impatience.

"Belarus is not happy about this, as you can imagine."

"Is that so?" he said in an off-hand way. He wasn't afraid of Natalya, but she did put him off ease. During World War II she had been absolutely vicious, and he doubted very much that that had changed the slightest bit since then.

"_Da. _And just for the record, Mr. Germany, I'm not so happy about you either. You can understand this, I assume. Hm?" The curtain of friendliness was slowly being lifted over his tone and expression, and Ludwig wondered how long it would be before the man lost it completely.

"I see. And I don't blame you, either," he said calmly, "Katya raised you and your sister, is that right?"

Then it was gone, and Ivan's eyes grew with anger, though his mouth just curved up in a smile.

"What did you call her, Mr. Germany?"

Ludwig realized his mistake and tried again, "Frau Ukraine raised you, Russia, am I right?"

The larger man went on as if he hadn't heard. "Never call her that. You called her that when—"

"_Am I right_, Mr. Russia?"

The man appeared confused. "_Da_. And she was a better mother than anyone could even try to be."

"Children don't often try to control their guardians."

"I am not a child."

"Neither is she."

Ivan's eyes were icy cold, full of prejudice and disgust. "She has always protected me. I am just trying to do the same. Don't forget what you did to her, to all of us. Not many people live after betraying me. Consider yourself very lucky, Beilschmidt." With that, Ivan had turned on heel and left the meeting room, not to be seen for the rest of the day by anyone.

Yekaterina, on the other hand, tried to avoid the Ludwig's glances and approaches. She had begun to think about her sister's advice, and as harsh as she had been, a fraction of it had been right. Maybe she shouldn't let him into her life so soon.

This decision had become harder and harder to keep, for it seemed that every time she looked up from the table she locked eyes with him, and her heart would flutter up to her throat. And the days that there were no meetings and she would not see him, she wished she could. It was all very confusing, and not to mention uncomfortable, for her.

Now her eyes drifted up to a small vase full of bright red poppies that she had put on her kitchen table. The day before, she had come from market to find them on her doorstep. There had been no note, but she had instantly known who had put them there.

She wondered why he was acting this way, and with her of all people. If it was a matter of apology—the simple desire to make things right again—he would have apologized to the whole world. There was no way he was going to try to hurt her again— he _had _changed, regardless of what Natalya said.

How _much_ he had changed was a matter to consider, however. As different as he seemed to be, he was still the same man who had mercilessly slaughtered millions, destroyed so much, and had hurt people who were supposed to be his friends. He was still the man who had worn the uniform that showed him as a Nazi, as a messenger of hate and death. He was still the man who had looked her in the eyes with a smile of pure sadistic joy as he asked her how it felt to be so helpless.

Yet, he was also the man who had sent her flowers and who had shown her every sign of regretting the pain he had inflicted. She put her head down on the table, trying to cut off the confusing thoughts to her brain. In a way she was glad that Natalya had set her straight, but she wished that she hadn't interfered and made her feelings even more complicated.

Sighing, she closed her eyes, the sounds of wild birds outside almost lulling her to sleep.

Meanwhile, well across the world, two brothers sat on a porch watching the sun set.

"So, how's it been with that girl?" the older of the two asked in between gulps of beer. He didn't receive and answer for a moment as the other thought.

"I feel bad about everything I've been doing," Ludwig said quietly, his own glass untouched.

"Hm? Well, take the advice of the great Prussia," Gilbert Beilschmidt began, before he was interrupted.

"The once-great Prussia who now isn't even a nation anymore, you mean."

"Why'd'ya have to bring that up? You're just jealous because women love me."

Ludwig laughed dryly. "I'm not asking for advice."

"That time with Austria changed you a little, didn't it?" Gilbert asked, narrowing his maroon eyes, "You think less of me 'cause of him, right?"

"Austria is harder to deal with than you, and that's saying a lot. I just think that I can handle this situation myself."

"_Mein __kleine bruder, _all grown up and making his own decisions," the other sighed, chugging the rest of his beer. Ludwig sighed; he was used to letting his brother making himself feel like he had the wisdom of a god. "I'm going to bed," he murmured, standing up and picking up the two glasses. "So soon? It's not late." "I'm tired. I've been worrying about all this too much." "I would too, for a girl like that. Didn't she used to have long hair? _Mein gott_. You have good taste, I'll give you that, Bruder," the other teased, smiling. But Ludwig didn't hear him, he was too busy imagining what had happened when Yekaterina had discovered the flowers. Could she think he was stalking her? Could she have told her brother? He sighed again, knowing he probably wasn't going to be able to get much sleep tonight. As he was walking up the stairs, he heard Gilbert open the door and stomp in, partially drunk. He had taken to using his drunkenness as an excuse to stay the night, and sure enough, he heard somebody fall heavily onto the sofa. "_Guten nacht_, Luddy," he heard him call up. "_Ja, ja, guten nacht_," he replied, feeling suddenly exhausted. Outside, a nightingale sang as the moon rose and Europe became dark. 


	13. Present: Chapter 13: Ludwig

"Do you remember me? How we used to be?  
>Do you thing we should be closer?"<p>

It had been the third time they had crossed paths and not spoken, and Ludwig was becoming desperate.

He could deal with her fear—it had even been sort of cute to see her glance up at him and become suddenly shy. But now she didn't even look at him anymore. The worst of it was that he didn't know exactly _why_ Yekaterina was avoiding him like this. There were reasons, of course, but he prayed that at least this was Ivan or that irritable Natalya's fault and not his own.

_Of course it's my own fault, _his mind argued, _It was always my fault. This is exactly what I deserve._

The man groaned and covered his eyes with his hand. _Why does it have to be so difficult?_

"That's my fault, too…" he thought aloud, before his mouth turned up into a bitter, ironic smile. Then the smile was gone.

They had just become friends again, how had it all disappeared so suddenly? Was it something Yekaterina's siblings said? Could it have been the flowers? Or maybe she didn't even think of him anymore; maybe she was happy with the tiny friendship and nothing closer. God knows that wasn't how he felt. Thinking about it made him furious and miserable at the same time. His heart ached and his mind buzzed with ideas and explanations for everything that had happened within the past month. It had seemed so sudden, but he knew that he might have felt this… this affection… all along.

Suddenly another idea made him more and more uncomfortable. Was it… could it even be… _love… _he was feeling?

No, that couldn't happen, it couldn't… but then...

Shaking his head, he stood and began to pace the study. The room was different than it was back then, the colors were less foreboding and, of course, all evidence of his past were gone—kept elsewhere where he wouldn't have to look at them so much. As different as the study looked, however, he could still remember her standing there, always listening in on his phone calls; always trying to hear the news about the Allies and her siblings. Sometimes he would make her sit with him and tell her, usually when things had gone either particularly bad or good and he had had a bit too much to drink. Sometimes he had told her too much, especially towards the end of the war. He had realized that they shouldn't even have hope with the situations they were in, but his boss had pushed on and on like the fool he was.

Sometimes she had talked back to him, but she was never rude. Most likely she just didn't want to give him another reason to hurt her again, but compared to others it was nearly amazing. She had never even told him to stop calling her the nickname he had given her, like Ivan had.

He sighed and sat back down, finally deciding on something. He would not let her ignore him. He wasn't going to let her disturbed siblings stop him anymore. He knew that they were beyond the point of forgiveness, maybe they would try to kill him if he got too close to their dear sister, but at this point he had been through enough to not care.

So it was decided. He was not going to give up on her. And he was definitely not going to let her give up on him.


	14. Past: Chapter 14: Phone Call

"Don't look so frightened!  
>This is just a passing phase,<br>One of my bad days."

"Kommen Sie hier, Katya."

"M-Mr. Germany?" Yekaterina's teal eyes met the German's blue ones and then darted away, as if looking at him too long would burn her somehow. He sighed and repeated the command in Russian.

"Come here." Her eyes turned up to study his face for a moment before obeying. She had been acting different towards him, but he did not know why. He realized it must have had something to do with the previous evening, but he couldn't remember anything that had occured. Lately, Yekaterina had been seemingly tip-toeing around him, staying as close to Veneziano as possible, and finding excuses to keep a wide berth between herself and him.

"Y-Yes?" she said quietly, taking a few steps forward to where he sat, her face pale.

"You do not know how to speak German, do you?" he asked in the heavily accented Russian he used when speaking to her.

"I know some things," she said unconvincingly. It was true that she had picked up a few words, but she couldn't understand most of the things he said when he conversed on the phone with others, or spoke to her when he was drunk. Sometimes she was relieved she couldn't understand—she was worried she might hear something terrible about some turn of the war or her family.

"Not enough to be prepared for after the war," he argued, gesturing for her to sit beside him on the sofa, "Even Italy knows how to speak fluent German, and he is an idiot."

"Oh…"

"My boss had suggested that I teach you the basics in my spare time."

"Yes, sir," she responded, wondering if she would ever be independent again. The kiss the night before had been terrifying enough, and now she would have to be this close, alone, with him almost every day. She wasn't sure if she would be able to handle it.

"But for now, I suppose we can wait. I assume you are eager to hear about how the war is going?"

She looked up, meeting his cold stare with a bright curiosity. "Yes, please."

He raised one eyebrow slightly, almost amused at the change in her attitude. "Well, the Russian military has—"

The phone rang at that moment, and he scowled, his eyes darkening.

"Katya, leave," he said with a sigh, "and I don't want you eavesdropping again."

Her face reddened and she promptly walked out of the room, obediently closing the door behind her. She was glad to be away from Ludwig, but she wished he had been able to finish his sentence. She wanted to know very badly how Ivan was doing against the German military.

Now she was alone. Veneziano hadn't come by to visit, having decided to spend the day with his older brother instead, so she had no one to talk to. She wished that Ludwig would let her write letters to her siblings; that was at least she would know how they were doing. She knew that Belarus had been trapped, and that many of her people had foolishly welcomed the German troops, as her own had at first. Then she wondered again why he hadn't broughtNatalya here as well. Maybe it was just to make her more miserable.

But was she truly miserable? She was never _content, _and she cried sometimes, but she wasn't right now. She had even been closer than an arm's length away from her captor, and yet all she felt was fear, not misery or sadness. Fear, and maybe curiosity. _I need something to do to distract me from thinking so strangely._

But, of course, every room in the house was clean, eliminating her chance of spending her time doing something reasonably useful. That was typical; Ludwig was very particular about organization, even more so than anyone she had ever met. She rarely had work to do, to tell the truth. He even did all the baking, which both amused and puzzled her.

It came to her suddenly that she was very alone here. Alone with this man who both terrified and excited her in turns, alone in a place where she should not be welcome.

"_Das kann nicht__passieren!_" The sudden exclamation from down the hall made her blood freeze and she in her fear knelt to the floor, expecting a blow. Nothing happened, of course—Ludwig was still in his study, on the phone.

Nevertheless, she had never heard him so angry. He had incredible self control (_except for yesterday, of course,_) for a man as cruel as himself, and the shout had only highlighted how helpless she would be if he was to attack her somehow.

Yet, the curiosity that gnawed at her thoughts forced her back to her feet, being as silent as possible in order to hear more of the conversation. When she only heard his muffled voice, she took a step closer; then another, and another…

The phone clicking back into the receiver. Footsteps. The handle of the door turning. And of course, she could only watch in horror as the man stepped out, his breathing shaky as if he was trying hard to control it. His eyes were at first on the floor, but then he must have sensed her because his eyes darted up, catching her own in a dead hold.

"I told you not to listen in." He spoke through clenched teeth, but his voice was alarmingly calm.

"I-I wasn't, I was—" He started to walk forward, his mouth beginning to curve upwards in a smile that chilled her. He was smiling the same was he had when he first saw her, but back then she had mistaken the anger for kindness; the sadism for friendship…

She let out a sound like a half-scream and half-whimper, and then her instincts took over. She soun around and began to run as fast as her legs could take her away from him—because as charming as he could be, he had stolen her and thousands of her peoples' lives. He was dangerous; he was cold; he was calculating; he was _evil._

Why would she never learn?

The young woman did not hear him behind her, but that was in no way a consolation. She ran to the nearest broom closet and closed herself in, cursing herself for choosing such a stupid place to hide the moment the door clicked shut. She froze when she finally heard him come down the stairs before lurching forward and grabbing the door knob, holding it tightly. There was no lock on the door, so she had to use all her strength to hold it back in case he should try to open it. He passed by the closet. She sighed, her face wet with tears. Then he paused and turned, coming back. She heard him tap on the door.

"Frau Ukraine." He spoke softly, without a hint of the previous anger in his voice. She held her breath, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.

"Frau Ukraine, I can hear you." She didn't answer—what would she say?

"When you refuse to open the door I will, that seems fair, doesn't it?"

"N-No!"

"I won't hurt you."

She let out a sob, her strength suddenly gone. She let her hands fall away from the handle of the door. Yekaterina was trapped.

When the door pulled away from her, she just stayed in her kneeling position on the floor, feeling helplessly pathetic. She was aware of his eyes on her, but her own just shut, waiting.

"Stand." When she didn't, to her horror he took her by the arms and lifted her, forcing her to her feet. She opened her eyes again, feeling dizzy. With a shocked moan, her face was turned up towards his as he pulled her head back by her hair, obviously more roughly than he had intended.

"Don't run away," he said simply, and she noticed how tired he looked. However, the fear she felt paired with the knowledge of her own helplessness made the situation more horrifying than ever, and the world around her spun for a moment before all was black.


	15. Past: Chapter 15: Sleep

"Through the fish-eyed lens of tear stained eyes  
>I can barely define the shape of this moment in time<br>And far from flying high in clear blue skies  
>I'm spiraling down to the hole in the ground where I hide. "<p>

The woman woke up wrapped in a quilt, the warmth of which shielded her against the slight chill in the room. Drowsiness kept her from really caring where she was or if she was alone, but when that wore off she lifted herself from where she lay and looked around. She was in her own bedroom, which comforted her, and it was early evening. When had she come up here?

_Oh, yes, that's right, _she thought, remembering the events that had occurred four hours ago. Then she froze, listening for any sign of Ludwig nearby. There were none, so she stood, the cold air making her shiver.

_Germany's armies are fighting in Russia, _she remembered, _If it's cold _here_ it must be four times as cold there. They'll all die._

The thought as first gave her the satisfaction of revenge, but then a larger part of her heart ached for everyone who was dying at the moment, German or not. She wondered how Ludwig felt about it all—or if he even cared about anything but victory at this point.

_But where is he?_

She sighed and waited for a moment before lying down again, wishing that the door had been closed. She didn't want him to see her sleeping, she was too vulnerable in sleep. Then she realized how stupid that fear was—he must have been the one who had carried her up here after she had passed out. Her face grew hot at the thought of being in his arms, and at the same time she felt an uncomfortable rustling inside her.

_Where is he?_

"M-Mr. Germany?" she called meekly, before repeating herself in a louder voice. She got no response, so she tried once more.

"Herr… Herr Deutschland?" Nothing.

He must not have been there. He would have responded.

_Why do I want to know so badly? _She didn't want to ponder the question. Turning over onto her side again, she curled up and closed her eyes, her thoughts beginning to slow to the gentle hum that it became in sleep…

By the time Ludwig Beilschmidt stepped foot in the house, the moon had risen high over Europe. The night was dark and cold, matching the way he felt. Honda was not letting up at all, using all his strength to fight against the Allies. Ludwig, of course, was doing the same, but the Japanese and German man both differed on _how _exactly the fighting should be done. Kamikazes were all very well, but they weren't as practical as dropping bombs, in his opinion.

And then, of course, there had been Veneziano, too busy playing with Honda's cat to pay attention or give any input into the discussion.

Ludwig's thoughts were so occupied that he almost forgot about the Ukrainian woman who had run sobbing from him only hours ago. But he heard her upstairs, and he froze. Was she singing? He held his breath, listening for a second and confirming the suspicion. Her voice was sad, clear, and one of the loveliest he had ever heard. She sung in Ukrainian, so he didn't understand, but he stood and listened, trying not to make any sound.

"_Tsvite teren, tsvite teren__  
><em>_Ta j tsvit opadaje__  
><em>_Hto v lubovi ne znjet'sia—"_

When she stopped, he heard her inhale quickly, as if she had just then realized that she was no longer alone in the house. He knew that she was doing the same thing he was—holding her breath and listening, face flushed with embarrassment. Deciding to pretend he hadn't heard her, he walked up the stairs and past her bedroom, resisting every urge he had to walk through the open door and—

_Stop thinking about that, you schwachkopf, there are more important things to worry about…_

His mind only partially moved on as he went to his own bedroom, changing out of his uniform as quickly as possible before he paused, wondering again about Yekaterina. It was cold tonight. Would she be warm enough? For a moment he was uncomfortable that he actually cared—he was supposed to view her as Slavic filth, after all, like her siblings. She should be nothing more than a gypsy or a Jew to him.

His thoughts frustrated him as he pulled an extra blanket from a cabinet and made his way down the hall. Her door was open, as he had left it, so she must have slept for a while. Either that or she was too afraid to leave, after what had happened.

The light flickered out as he neared the door, and he heard the rustling of blankets and the creaking of bedsprings. He couldn't help but smirk—it was almost cute how she thought she could fool him by feigning sleep. Of course, she was under the covers with her eyes closed when he stepped in, but her breathing was too uneven for the act to be believable.

"Frau Ukraine," he whispered in the semi-darkness, knowing he wouldn't get a response. She moved slightly as her body tensed up. Her breath trembled. He carefully unfolded the blanket in his arms and covered her with it without touching her. She was on her side, so he leaned over to see her face. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes were shut tightly. Then the almost paternal concern turned to something else, and Ludwig thought for a moment before brushing the hair away from her neck and leaning down so his mouth was directly over where he knew her pulse was.

"I know you're awake," he whispered, slight malice creeping into his tone. He wasn't sure why he suddenly wanted to terrify her like this, but he did a lot of things that he wasn't sure about.

She shuddered and let out a shaky breath.

_You're a sadistic bastard, _his conscience scolded.

_I know, _another part of him replied, and he chuckled softly, standing upright again. Then he left, closing her door behind him and shutting out the rest of the light in her room.

Both of their nights were full of broken sleep, confusing and frightening dreams, and thoughts of each other. After waking up from another dream, Ludwig thought drowsily that he would be able to sleep better if he had the sweet, shy Ukrainian beside him. The thought, however, was forgotten in the morning.


	16. Present: Chapter 16: Kiss and Make Up

"Remember how she said that  
>We would meet again,<br>Some sunny day?"

It was getting more and more unclear as to what Yekaterina was supposed to do. Getting closer to Ludwig had infuriated Ivan and Natalya, but avoiding him was hurting her. She had been noticing something in his eyes on the few occasions that they did meet her own— something like sadness and annoyance mixed together, so she thought that she might not be the only end of this who felt bad.

She knew she shouldn't want to be close to him, but she did. And, for better or worse, Natalya's discouragements hadn't done much to dull this attraction.

"Only a fool with a silly crush would act the way you are, Sestra."

"Remember what he did to you? Did to me? And how about Brother? How can you forgive him after hurting our dear, lovely Brother?"

"He'll always be the same, underneath the surface. Sweet, eh? Ha! You must be some kind of masochist to feel anything but cold hatred for that man!"

Each time Natalya uttered a statement concerning her disgust for the German man, Yekaterina would carefully avoid it. She was never good at jumping around questions or confrontations, so often she was left staring at the floor, her sea green eyes edged with red and brimming with tears. The worst of it was that Natalya never yelled, she only spoke in a dangerously quiet voice, like a scolding teacher. The Ukrainian woman hated feeling like a schoolchild getting a warning, especially from her younger sibling.

She hated thinking she was wrong for how she felt, for forgiving a former enemy. And the short looks she got from him just added to the torture.

Ivan, however protective he was, didn't talk to her much about this issue. He didn't even seem to realize what was happening—Natalya must have realized that her brother's instability would have caused a scene and had refrained from telling him about their older sister's sudden emotional change. Yekaterina was thankful for that.

She pondered all this as she sat in the meeting room, trying to avoid Ludwig's fiery-cold stares. She would have to leave soon, she had never felt more awkward and out of place. She already had it figured out—during one of the fights, she would slip out. Simple as that. People seemed to notice her only a bit more than Matthew Williams, so it seemed like it would be easy.

"Like, get away from Liet, Russia!" Feliks, the Polish representative called out, pointing an accusing finger at Ivan, who was slowly making his way towards the Lithuanian representative, Toris, with a hungry look in his eye.

"Wait, what?" Toris asked, his green eyes filled with panic. Yekaterina noticed Ludwig's eyes shift over to the scene with a sort of stony amusement.

"Bela, I'll be back later," the Ukrainian woman whispered to her sister before standing and carefully walking to the door that led out into the hall. All eyes and sound was directed at her brother, so she was certain that nobody saw her leave. As soon as the door closed, she began to walk as quickly as possible away from the room. A sense of freedom and rebellion made her grin—she had done it.

She didn't even consider that anyone had followed her until the person that had clapped their hand over her mouth.

"Hey!" she tried to say, but it only came out as a muffled, surprised sound.

"So, Ukraine, eh?" a masculine, German-accented voice asked, one that she found familiar, "I'll let you go, but don't yell at me."

She nodded, and turned at the moment the hand left her mouth. Her eyes met shining maroon ones set in a face that was framed by pale hair. It didn't take long to figure out who he was, and the knight's cross at his throat was an unneeded hint.

"M-Mr. Prussia?"

"_Ja, ja, _I need no introduction, I'm just that awesome." He grinned and ran his fingers through his hair, smiling mischievously at her.

"You weren't at the meeting…"

"Not allowed to. They say I'm not a _nation _anymore. Big whoop, like I care, it's too much work anyway." His facial expression told a different story, but she didn't dare comment.

"So, uh, wh-what are you doing here…?" she asked, her voice meek. All she wanted to do was be alone, not have to make conversation with Ludwig's older brother, especially after his 'greeting'.

"Oh, I'm staying with Bruder. You can't believe how lucky I felt when I saw _you_ of all people creeping away like a cute little… uh…" a blush crept up his face, but he continued on as if he had finished his sentence. "And you know, I thought I'd say _hallo._ Wasn't that nice of me?"

That damned knight's cross. That stupid medal that brought back so many memories…

She felt odd, like she was going to either cry or laugh or both.

"I-I…"

Both of their heads jerked up as something smashed inside the meeting room.

"Sounds like a party in there," Gilbert joked, winking at Yekaterina, "Anyway, I was wondering if Luddy finally grew a pair and—"

The door flew open and out dashed Feliks, crying out in his drawling tone, obviously both annoyed and in danger. Ukraine could make out her brother's name, but he was gone before she could hear anything else.

"Meeting adjourned!" a voice shouted from inside that was obviously Ludwig's, and people began to pour out of the doorway. Yekaterina saw this as an excellent chance to get away from Gilbert, but he snaked one arm around her waist and pulled her behind him, hiding her from her siblings, who seemed too absorbed in either stalking or glaring (Natalya got jealous easily) at a red-faced Toris to have noticed her anyway.

"Not so fast. There's a method to this, y'know," the German man murmured, still grinning, "It's about time you met _mein bruder_."

"I already know Lu—"

"Nope. Ludwig! _Komm her_!" he called, just as the tall blonde man stepped out, looking forlorn. His head turned, and his face brightened when he noticed his sibling.

"Ah, Gilbert! _Wie gehts dir_?" he asked in a bright, cheerful tone that surprised Yekaterina. He then seemed to notice that his brother's arm was in an odd position, and he noticed her. "Who is that, Gilbert?"

"It's little Katya. Now kiss and make up, _Gott_ knows you need to." Yekaterina found herself pushed forward, and she lost her balance, tripping. Ludwig caught her by her arms and let her go when she found her balance again.

"I'm sorry, Frau Ukraine, Herr Prussia isn't always very bright," an embarrassed-looking Ludwig said, glaring furiously at his sibling.

"Shut up, I know this is a good idea! Now kiss!" the other demanded.

Yekaterina felt she was going to faint. This was embarrassing. This was so horribly embarrassing. She couldn't even bear to look up at Ludwig, who was gazing at her with a look of disbelief.

"I… apologize for him, he's not right. You should go find your family, Fraulien, they were worrying about you."

She could only manage to nod and scamper away, very uncomfortably aware of their stares on the back of her neck. Even if she tried, she had always ended up with him. And Gilbert—Gilbert had ruined her day easily. She felt tears coming and she broke into a run to get to Ivan—he stood out in the crowd due to his height—and walked close to him, hooking her arm around his.

"Hmm?" he turned down, and smiled warmly, "Ah, Katyusha, there you are. Are you okay?"

She didn't respond.

"Tired? Okay, you'll be home soon." He pulled his arm away and patted her back comfortingly, happily oblivious to the tears falling from her eyes.

She didn't know that Ludwig was close behind, observing her. Gilbert, silent now, was rubbing his face where a bruise shaped like his brother's fist would appear the next day.

"You ruined it, you know that?" Ludwig hissed, his eyes livid but not leaving Yekaterina.

"Well, you're not doing any better!"

"I was going to…" his voice faded. "You're such an idiot! Why would you try to do this?"

"Try to what?"

"Try to make her hate me!"

"Oh, she doesn't hate you, she just fears you. You could make that work—"

Ludwig cuffed him on the back of the head, hard enough to make the older man's vision flash. He froze, his fingers entwining within his own white hair, trying to get rid of the sudden dizziness.

"S-See? You've got issues. You're violent," Gilbert complained vaguely, groaning in pain.

"You deserved that. Stop being melodramatic and walk."

Grumbling, Gilbert started again to move, and Ludwig searched for the little Ukrainian woman again. She was gone. He sighed miserably and began to walk to his car.


	17. Present: Chapter 17: Truce

"And if I show you my dark side  
>Will you still hold me tonight?<br>And if I open my heart to you  
>And show you my weak side<br>What would you do? "

Ludwig was in the middle of reading when he got a phone call. Already slightly irritated, the annoyance grew as a teenaged female voice started speaking, a bit difficult to understand amongst static and another voice.

"Mr. Germany, Vene—Italy wanted me to call you to say that he won't be home for a while, so—" she cut off into giggling at something.

"Very well, Lili. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"_J-Ja_, I will…" the girl said in between giggles. Ludwig sighed, and hung up the phone, trying to get his mind back into the book he had been reading. After a minute, he gave up and stood, grumbling to himself.

"He comes here so much that he thinks he _lives _here. Why did _she _have to call?"

He suddenly felt burning jealousy, an uncomfortable and not entirely unfamiliar feeling. But how could be envious towards _Italy? _He was bumbling, childish, cowardly… but he was so happy in his ignorance. He was even able to make Lili happy, obviously—they had been dating behind her overly-protective brother's back for weeks now. Ludwig began to pace, a habit from the second World War that had been coming back recently, and clenched his teeth together, wishing that he would stop feeling so bad.

Earlier that day he had picked up his phone twice, both times with the intention of calling Yekaterina. The first time, he had gotten as far as to dial the number before hanging up; the second time he had just stared at the buttons for a moment, the fingers of his other hand tapping restlessly on the table top. Then he had given up and had gone to start to make food for lunch, cursing himself for his cowardice.

What would he say if he _did _call her, though? _I'm sorry that my brother tried to force you to kiss me, want to go out sometime? _

He slapped his hand to his forehead, groaning in frustration. Give him anything, any kind of fight, any kind of work, and he would easily get through it with precision and accuracy. Give him something like this, though—this weird emotional situation—and it was just the opposite.

Guilt was part of it, he knew that. He hated himself daily for what he had done in the past. The guilt was like a bullet in his heart that couldn't be removed. And he knew that for the most part he had been forgiven, but there would always be that tiny glint of blame in anyone else's eyes if he were to speak to them; even from others who were part of the Axis. The war had begun with him, and it had ended with his own miserable defeat.

He could live with that. He always had. But now there was this woman—this sweet, warm, motherly, fearful woman—that he was beginning to have feelings for. Feelings? No, it was more than that… wasn't it? He really didn't know enough about the subject of affection to really place it.

"Katya Braginskaya," he murmured to himself. Just saying her name made his heart beat faster.

Someone knocked on his door three times, the sound echoing through the house. Running his fingers through his hair, he made his way over, ready to lecture Italy on how he had his _own _house to go to.

He definitely didn't expect who he saw.

"M-Mr. Germany?"

He was dimly aware of the blood rushing to his face. After a moment of trying to regain his ability to speak, he blinked and tried to look more casual. "Frau Ukraine."

"I-I'm sorry for just coming here, but I had a question."

"_Ja_, go ahead. Uh, would you like to come in? It's starting to rain."

She looked up at him for a moment before nodding slightly. "If it's okay."

"Of course," he replied, moving aside. She was obviously uncomfortable, but her shyness almost made him smile. He realized he had nothing to be nervous about, but he still felt the blood rush to his face when she looked at him again.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice a bit louder than before.

"Why is that, Fraulein?"

It was her turn to blush, pink creeping up her usually pale face. _Something about his voice…_

"I-I was worried, Mr. Germany, about Ivan and Natalya. Have they been, I mean, uh…"

Ludwig tilted his head and observed her as she struggled to find the right word. "Bothering you?"

"Not as much as Gilbert bothers you, I'm sure." It was a lie, but he didn't like how frightened her mannerisms seemed—her eyes darting from the floor to him to the window to the door, and her hands moving together in front of her. She would do the same thing back when he was forcing her to learn his own language, and he didn't like being reminded of that time.

"Oh." She seemed only slightly relieved, but she managed a small smile.

"There's nothing to worry about, Frau Ukraine. Ivan is just naturally… concerned… for you. Anyone would." He realized that by saying that he was implying that he himself was dangerous, and hastily tried to cover the bad word choice. "He hasn't gotten over the war, I mean."

"W-Well, okay…"

They stood, Ludwig watching Yekaterina and the woman trying not to meet his eyes. The silence was an uncomfortable one, the air thick with tension.

"Speaking of," the man continued, to break the silence, "I apologize for _mein bruder's _insolence. He has the mind of a ten-year-old with ADHD."

This made her smile a little. "It's okay…"

Another painful moment of silence, again broken by Ludwig.

"Would you, ah, like to stay for a while? It _is _rather ugly weather."

"I don't want to bother you, were you in the middle of somethi—"

Nein, Italy is out with his friend, so I have no messes to clean up, and I baked a cake this morning, we can have some of that," he interrupted quickly. He hoped that it wouldn't show in his face or his voice how desperately he wanted her to stay.

"I could…" she said quietly, her face reddening again. The frustration from before came back to Ludwig, but he made himself smile slightly.

"How is everything, back at home?" he asked, gesturing for her to follow him into the kitchen. She thought for a second before answering.

"Well, the wheat crop has been planted… uh, well, not much else," she said softly, feeling an uncomfortable wave of nostalgia as she glanced around the room. The house seemed more cheerful than the last time she had seen it, but still there was an air of foreboding and anxiety that she could feel. A chill rippled through her body and she shuddered. Ludwig turned and gazed down at her, realizing that a friendly evening together wouldn't be very likely and changing his expression along with his mindset.

"I guess you're not too happy about being here." The sentence was devoid of emotion.

"H-Hm?"

For some reason, her avoidance of the question almost put him past his limit of frustration. The self-control he always took pride in almost slipped, but he managed to not act on the sudden urge he had to push her against the kitchen wall and tell her _everything _he felt towards her.

"Don't try to make me out as innocent, Fraulein." He realized how harsh the statement was after he said it, but then he decided that it was just how it needed to sound. The fluttery, hopefulness he had felt when she had first come turned to something different—something that he knew he had shown before to her, but he couldn't remember _when…_

"Mr. Germany, a-are you okay?" she asked as his face paled and his smile disappeared.

"Nein, ich bin es nicht," he replied, accidently speaking in German.

She took a few steps closer and looked him as if searching for something, her own eyes widening slightly with worry. "Mr. Germany?"

"Fraulein, are you afraid of me?" he asked suddenly, both arms shooting out to take her gently by the shoulders, gazing at her imploringly.

"_N-Nyet_, I have no reason—"

"Stop trying to pretend I never hurt you!" he demanded, his fingers closing more tightly around her shoulders. She breathed in quickly and put her own hands over his.

"Do I have a reason to be afraid of you now?" she asked, her tone becoming more motherly and understanding. It was the way she talked to Ivan, sometimes, when he was upset. It was easier to keep her voice even and her thoughts straight when she compared calming Ludwig to consoling her brother, although the two were so very different.

"I don't know." It was an honest answer on his part, he was feeling things towards her at that moment that might terrify her.

Yekaterina stared up at him with her big, blue-green eyes for another moment before Ludwig couldn't take any more of it.

"Katya…" he said, his expression pleading, "I'm sorry."

"I know." The words were almost too soft to hear.

"When he said… what he said about you… I forced myself to believe it. I ruined everything, I ruined half of the world. I killed… I loved killing. I loved the taste of blood, the sight of destroying the weak ones, the_ imperfections_. Because he made me believe that it was okay, it was acceptable, it was right…"

As he spoke, his voice grew hushed, more desperate. She could practically see reflections of the Holocaust in his eyes, and it frightened her.

"I loved watching the fires, Katya," he whispered, his voice full of a sort of numbness and guilt. Their faces were close now, and the idea to move away from him vaguely stirred in the back of her mind, and then died.

"Mr. Germany," she said, trying to bring him back from the past he was reliving. It seemed to work, because his eyes focused again on hers.

"_Katya, Ich habe dich geliebt, schon damals_. Please, please, forgive me."

She looked up at him for a few more seconds.

"Mr. Germany, I had forgiven you the moment you let me go," she said, knowing it was true the moment the words were spoken. She realized then that she was in love with him. The realization was like stepping into a trench and being pulled under cold, unforgiving water. His pale blue eyes suddenly looked threatening, as though he suspected she was lying, but then he let go of her shoulders, wrapping his arms instead around her waist and pulling her closer.

"Promise me this, Katya."

Her hands went to hold his wrists, as if to pull his arms off of her. It was the opposite of what he wanted to do. Pulling her body forcefully against his, he caught her mouth with his own and began to kiss her, feeling her moan in surprise as his lips worked almost angrily against hers. All the guilt, frustration, sadness, and want that had built up through the years went into every touch between them; they could feel each other's heart beating against their own. When he finally pulled away from her, she stood on tiptoe so she could whisper to him—she felt that if she tried to speak above that she would faint; she felt dizzy.

"_Ya lyublyu tebe_…"

He nuzzled her neck, still feeling her quickened heartbeat against his chest. It seemed as if then, everything would be alright. They stood together, holding each other, each hardly believing what had just happened.

"_Ich liebe dich, Yekaterina_," he whispered back, the very words making his mind and heart buzz.

Yekaterina Braginskaya closed her eyes and smiled, love shielding her from any doubt she had left in her mind.


End file.
